As far as he was concerned, he hadn’t even started.
• •
Cassie drove away from the big house. If Lara wasn’t so damn secretive, Cassie could’ve called Linden and instructed him to get his ass out here, so that he, too, could baby-sit Lara and put up with the inconvenience of spending the night in an empty house with no power. It was dark, frightening and plain stupid.
The first market she came to was fifteen minutes away and did not have anything she wanted. Plus an oversize biker, with yellowing teeth, stringy, gray hair and multiple leather crosses and chains hanging around his neck, was eyeballing her like he wouldn’t mind having her for supper. Even Cassie, who was constantly on the lookout for a man, was not tempted.
Getting back in her car, she drove all the way to the big supermarket in Malibu, where she suddenly had a brilliant idea —Granita, one of Lara’s favorite restaurants, was right there. She could order something special for Lara—a Wolfgang Puck pizza being a much better deal than something she’d pick up in the market. Before parking and going into the restaurant, she called her sister, with whom she shared a small house.
“Where are you?” Maggie asked.
Cassie explained the situation, finishing off with, “I hope you’re taping NYPD.”
“Of course!” Maggie said.
“Hopefully I’ll see you in the morning.”
She left the car and entered Granita. As soon as Wolf heard she was there for Lara, he came over, greeting her personally, promising to fix Lara’s favorite chicken dish. Then he insisted she sit at a table while she was waiting, and a few minutes later he sent over one of his delicious smoked-salmon pizzas.
She tried Lara on her cell phone. Unfortunately it was out of range.
Oh well—Lara had seemed perfectly happy alone in the house. Cassie didn’t think she’d mind if this took longer than expected.
• •
Lara explored the big old house with only Cassie’s flashlight to guide her way. First she went upstairs to the master suite, where there was a spectacular view of the ocean. Not that she could see much tonight—only the stormy sky and the ocean down below, everything a raging mass of darkness.
Next she returned to the living room with its vast terrace perilously overhanging the edge of the cliff. From the terrace there was a gate leading to a rough wooden staircase that went all the way down to the beach. When she was renting the house she’d taken a walk along the beach every morning at six, and she’d loved the freedom.
She ventured onto the terrace for a moment. Too wet, cold and windy. She hurried back inside.
Somehow being in the house alone fit her mood. She wasn’t planning on feeling sorry for herself, but she liked the idea that nobody could reach her.
In the morning she’d start making decisions about her future. As everyone couldn’t wait to tell her, she’d been working too hard—nonstop, in fact. Was that why she’d fallen into Joey’s trap, instead of treading carefully as she usually did?
Nikki was right—he’d hooked her sexually, damn him. Good old Nikki. She certainly knows her stuff. Sex does it every time.
It occurred to her that she’d probably been too hard on Nikki, putting the full blame for the photographs on her. Revenge didn’t need cheap publicity, it was a powerful movie that could stand on its own merits.
I haven’t been much of a friend, she thought. Nikki’s going through a tough time, and I should be there for her.
Reaching into her purse, she took out her cell phone. Unfortunately the battery needed recharging, and she couldn’t get a signal.
Now she felt really isolated. But that was good, it gave her time to reflect, and most of all, to regain control of her life.
• •
Joey paced restlessly around the house. It was past eleven and he had a bad feeling that something must have happened to Lara. He had no idea where to start looking. The only person he could think of to call was Nikki, so he found Lara’s book and looked up her number.
Aiden answered the phone. Recognizing his voice, Joey said, “Hey, man—I need to talk to Nikki.”
“About Summer?”
“Summer?”
“She’s missing. You didn’t know?”
“No, I’m tryin’ to find Lara. Is she there?”
“Sorry.”
“Maybe Nikki knows where she is.”
“I’ll see if she can talk.”
Nikki came on the line a few moments later. “I have no idea where Lara is, Joey.”
“Aiden told me about Summer. What happened?”
“She took off. We don’t know where she’s gone.”
“Could she be with Lara?”
“I don’t see how. Didn’t Lara leave you a message?”
“No, nothing. She wasn’t at the party; they said she never showed.”
“I wish I could help you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m sorry about Summer.”
“Wait a minute,” Nikki said. “I just thought of something. Richard was on the set this morning.”
“With Lara?”
“Yes . . . he was busy putting in his ten cents about the tabloid photos.”
“Are you sayin’ she might be with him?”
“No . . . but he was up to something. He had an older woman with him—took her into Lara’s trailer and left them alone together.”
“Who was the woman?”
“I don’t know. She was in her fifties, smartly dressed, reddish hair.”
The description chilled him. Could it possibly be Madelaine Francis?
No. Inconceivable.
And yet . . . Richard hated him and still lusted after Lara. Maybe he’d found out about Madelaine. If that was the case, Joey was in deep trouble.
“Thanks, Nikki,” he said, clicking off the phone.
If Madelaine Francis was in L.A. he’d find her. And if Richard Barry had put her in touch with Lara, he was going to pay.
Something was wrong. And he’d better find out what, before it was too late.
CHAPTER
67
IT WAS COLD SITTING IN her car, watching the big house, but Alison Sewell was fired with energy. She leaned over, reaching into the backseat of her station wagon and grabbing a warm parka that she kept there for just such occasions—the occasions when she had to track stars and sit outside their houses all night.
However, tonight was different. Tonight she wasn’t hanging around waiting for a photo opportunity. Tonight she was getting it for herself, and Lara and her dumb assistant were making it very easy. A house with no electricity, shrouded in darkness, and now Cassie driving off without her boss. What could be better?
As soon as she saw Cassie leave, Alison exited her car, carefully making her way through the open gate, approaching the house warily. Many times she’d been attacked by guard dogs, or some tiresome security guard with a gun had jumped out, demanding to know what she wanted.
Just in case, she always carried her own weapons: a large hunting knife, similar to the one used in the Nicole Simpson-Ron Goldman murders; a couple of sharp knitting needles; thick leather gloves to protect her hands; a screwdriver and a special credit card that could get her through any door.
She’d once been lying in wait for a particularly outrageous rock star, when his vicious dog had come sniffing around her crotch. Before the mutt could make a sound, she’d slit its throat with her hunting knife. She remembered the way the knife had sliced through the dog’s jugular vein, and how its blood had spurted all over her. It hadn’t upset her at all. In fact, it had given her a strange thrill.
What would Lara look like when that happened to her?
What expression would she have on that beautiful face?
Alison wondered if Lara Ivory realized how lucky she was to have been born with such a perfect face. Stardom had fallen upon her like a golden mantle, and because of that face she’d led a charmed life.
As if the bitch deserved it. She deserved nothing, because she didn’t know
how to give. She was a selfish, self-obsessed movie star like all the rest of them.
Well, Alison planned to change that.
The night was dark and murky, the rain pounding down.
Alison didn’t need light. The rain didn’t bother her. She knew exactly where she was heading.
The covers of Time and Newsweek, that’s where she was heading.
CHAPTER
68
THE MOMENT NIKKI SET EYES on Sheldon she felt a familiar sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was years since she’d seen him—years of freedom and being away from his overbearing, pompous, full-of-shit presence. Now he was back, and to her annoyance he still affected her physically.
He did not look his usual pulled-together self. ’He seemed more shopworn and weary, clad in a rumpled sports coat, open-neck shirt and creased pants. His face was lined and old. His gray hair, dry and too long for a man his age. His thin lips, tighter than ever.
“Is she here?” were the first words out of his mouth.
“No,” Nikki said. “She’s not.”
“I need a drink,” he growled.
From the smell of him, she could tell he’d had quite a few on the plane. “Help yourself,” she said, gesturing toward the bar. “Uh, Sheldon, this is Aiden Sean.”
Barely glancing in Aiden’s direction, Sheldon mumbled a curt, “Good evening.”
Aiden exchanged glances with Nikki. “I told you,” she mouthed behind Sheldon’s back. “Total asshole.”
Sheldon fixed himself a large snifter of brandy.
“Well, Sheldon, what happened?” Nikki asked.
“She ran away, that’s what happened.”
“She wouldn’t go without a reason. Did you have a fight?”
“Summer and I never fight. We are extremely close.”
“Then what was it?”
“Ever since she came back from Los Angeles she’s been a different girl. It obviously has something to do with you.”
“Why me?” Nikki said indignantly.
“Because it was you who allowed her to run wild, let her go out with boys, and God knows what else she got up to while she was in your care.”
“Hey, listen,” Aiden interrupted. “It’s not my plan to get in the middle here, but shouldn’t you both be concentrating on finding your kid?”
Sheldon threw him a frosty look. “Who are you?” he said rudely.
Nikki bristled. “Aiden’s the man in my life,” she said, adding a terse, “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“What happened to Richard?”
“We’re getting divorced.”
“Oh, he couldn’t put up with you either.”
“Screw you, Sheldon!” she said, unable to control herself.
“Is that all you have to say?” He gave her one of his supercilious smiles. “I hoped you would have mastered a more intelligent vocabulary by now.”
“Fighting won’t solve shit,” Aiden interrupted. “One of you should contact the cops. You checked her friends here, Nik?”
“Right,” Nikki said, glaring at Sheldon. “I’ll go through the stuff she left here, see what I can find.”
• •
Sam rode a motorbike; not exactly a Harley, but it was kind of a fun ride. Summer sat behind him, her arms clasped firmly around his waist, pressing her body up against his back, not by choice, but because she didn’t fancy falling off.
Thank goodness there’s some nice guys left in the world, she thought, guys who don’t hit on you the second you look in their direction. She leaned her head against his back, her eyes almost closing. She was so tired, it was a big effort to stay awake.
Sam drove too fast for the rainy streets, but it didn’t bother her—she liked speed, it was exciting. Every time they stopped at a red light he turned his head and asked if she was having fun.
“Oh, yes,” she replied dryly. “Never had a better time.”
“You’re a sarcastic little bitch, aren’t you?” He laughed.
“Not so little,” she mumbled.
Sam lived in the guest cottage of a sprawling house in the Valley. His cottage consisted of two big rooms. One was his bedroom/living room, and the other his studio, filled with many paintings, mostly portraits.
She did an obligatory walk around. “You really got it going,” she said admiringly. “Cool stuff.”
“I know,” he responded, Mister Modest. “One day I’ll make it. Then no more doorman’s uniform for me.”
“Thanks for rescuing me tonight, Sam,” she said. “Guess I should confess—I was at the Norman Barton party, only I couldn’t stay there with all those lame hookers. I had no clue it was going to be like that.”
“I kinda figured that’s where you were,” he said. “No parents, right?”
“Not at the hotel.”
“Where?”
“My dad’s in Chicago, Mom’s here. They’re divorced.”
“My parents did that when I was five.”
Yes, but I bet you didn’t have a father who came into your room at night and molested you, she wanted to say. Only she kept her mouth shut. Telling Tina was bad enough.
“I haven’t got much in the way of food,” he said. “Help yourself to what’s there.”
She checked out his fridge. There was a half-eaten pizza and a rancid piece of cheese.
“I’m not hungry,” she said. “Just tired. Is it okay if I like, crash on the couch in the corner?”
“Take the bed,” he said. “I’ve got work to finish—probably won’t get any sleep tonight.”
“You’re sure?” she said, too exhausted to argue.
“It’s all yours,” he said generously.
“Wow—thanks.”
“The bathroom’s over there,” he said, pointing. “You’ll find pajamas behind the door.”
She hurried into the bathroom, slipped out of her dress and put on the pajamas he’d mentioned. Even though they were several sizes too big, they were better than nothing. Then she got into bed, thinking that tomorrow she’d collect her bag from Tina’s, and maybe stay in a hotel for a couple of days before deciding her next move.
Whatever happened, she was never going back to Chicago.
• •
Leaving Sheldon and Aiden alone together was not a great idea, but Nikki did it anyway while she scoured the guest room, searching through the few things Summer had left behind.
After a few minutes she found the name “Jed” scribbled on a piece of paper, with two exclamation points next to his name.
She tried the number, getting an answering machine. “Hi, this is Jed. You need me, I need you, so leave a message at the sound of the you know what.”
She waited for the tone, then said, “Uh . . . my name’s Nikki Barry. I’m calling about Summer. It’s urgent that I talk to you as soon as possible. Please call me back.” She left her phone number, then tried Mick at home. He was there. “Oh,” she said. “I thought you’d still be at the party.”
“Nice of you to stay around,” he drawled sarcastically. “Jesus, Nik—that’s no way to make friends and influence your crew.”
“I had an emergency.”
“What? Like the big movie star thro win’ a blue freakin’ fit about those photos?”
“It’s my daughter, Summer. She’s run away from home.”
“Oh.”
There was a long pause. Nikki broke it. “Mick, I know what happened between you and Summer.”
“Huh?”
“I’m aware you made her commit a . . . sexual act, even though you must have known she was a minor. So . . . if you have any information about her whereabouts, you’d better tell me right now.”
“Jesus, Nik—I had no freakin’ clue she was your daughter, or that she was only fifteen . . .”
“So you haven’t heard from her?” Nikki interrupted coldly.
“No. And the truth is we didn’t do a damn thing.”
“That’s not what you told Aiden.”
“Guys boast
,” he said sheepishly. “Guess I got carried away.”
Nikki wasn’t sure whether to believe him or not. “Anyway,” she said, “her father’s flown in from Chicago, and when he contacts the police, I wouldn’t want him telling them what you made her do.”
“Are you insane?” Mick shrieked. “You’d get me thrown in jail for something I didn’t do? Is that the kind of publicity you want for our movie?”
“This is not about the movie, Mick. It’s about my daughter. And I want her back.”
“Listen, chickie babe,” he said, rolling his eyes as he clung onto the phone. “I swear on my life, my mother’s life, Quentin Tarantino’s life—and you know he’s my idol—I never touched her and I haven’t heard from her.”
“If you’re sure . . .”
“Dead sure.”
She was unconvinced. What if Summer had contacted him? What if she was sitting in his house even as they spoke?
Back in the living room, she took Aiden to one side. “I’ve got a feeling about Mick,” she said. “I have to make sure Summer’s not there. Can we go over to his place? We’ll leave Sheldon here.”
“C’mon, Nik,” Aiden said, shaking his head. “You gotta control your paranoia.”
“If he has nothing to hide, he won’t mind us dropping by.”
“Jesus! You’re serious.”
“Sheldon,” she said, going over to her ex. “Aiden and I have to go out. We’ll be back as quickly as possible.” She watched as he poured himself another hefty brandy. “Oh,” she added sarcastically, “and do make yourself at home.”
• •
Summer was asleep in the middle of Sam’s big bed, dreaming about running on the beach with Norman Barton and seven naked hookers, when she felt her father’s hands on her.
“No!” she screamed, opening her eyes in horror. “Get off me, Daddy! Get off!”
But it wasn’t Daddy. It was Sam.
“Come on,” he said impatiently. “Gimme a piece of what you gave Norman Barton. You know you want to.”
“Drop dead, you horrible pig!” she yelled, trying to wriggle out from under him. “Pretending to be my friend. I trusted you!”
“Lesson number one,” he said, pinning her arms above her head, “Never trust anyone.”
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